Gastón was passing through Buenos Aires; here he was born and lived until the age of 17. But this time it was just a stop. However, not without a prior discussion with himself, he decided to visit his parents’ graves.
He did not think there was any relationship between his parents and that funeral monument, but in any case an inexplicable personal reflection obliged him, if he was in Buenos Aires, to respect that rite.
He took a quick look at each of the cement memories and left some flowers. About three hundred meters before starting the retreat, discovered the clue. The last one. The stone inscription revealed the name of her second grade classmate: Susana. It was her name, surname and date of birth. That truth could not be hidden: perhaps the most indisputable of all. But how? The when she was on the tombstone. He died two years ago.
They had last seen each other when they were both 17 and Gastón emigrated to Holland. From the age of 12, almost 13, after sharing that treasure hunt in the province of San Luis, Susana had left him clues, continuously, one or two a year, until the final one, at the exit of the cemetery.
Suddenly it was more sinister than when he entered, and went as far as possible, recovering the stables of Buenos Aires as a kind of freedom or relief, on foot, miles; before sitting down to order a coffee, a liqueur and reflect. He did not like cemeteries, neither Recoleta nor Pére Lachaise, nor common ones (if the word “common” applied to a cemetery).
On the occasion of the graduation trip, Gastón and Susana, together with all the other companions, in Merlo, San Luis, had participated in a treasure hunt: a box of candies, a balloon, some books (only they would know when they would find ), through a series of written clues left by a coordinator.
Susana’s mother had been the partner of the group, and she had been in charge of organizing that game.
But the treasure never appeared. It was the last D-Day, the next morning they would return by bus to Buenos Aires and it was dark. They left without having discovered the treasure or knowing what it was. Gastón tried to get Susana to inform him. But she herself didn’t know: her mother had taken her impartiality as coordinator so seriously that she didn’t tell her daughter what she was or where she had hidden her.
For years, after finishing primary school, the former comrades joked about being in Merlo, San Luis, to unearth that treasure lost. But they never took that proposal seriously, or failed to reach an agreement.
As adults, they joked that one day someone would find the treasure that belonged to them, or that they themselves would find it underground, when no one was left on this side of the planet. Around 2010, when Susana’s mother, Olimpia, died, the few who still crossed the path avoided referring to the treasure. She the secret had been carried to the grave.
On that graduation trip, Susana allowed Gastón to deduce a certain attraction. She was a little masculine, as they used to say then; and perhaps too close, more friend, for Gastón, than girlfriend, at such a young age. But as they continued to see each other over the years, until the age of 17, they grew closer and closer, albeit without achieving sensuality.
When Susana was 16, Gastón received the first clue. A piece of pink cloth on the seat of an airplane that was taking him to Neuquén for a judo tournament. He had Susana’s perfume and MSL on it. Merlo, San Luis.
Gaston he inhaled the perfume and interpreted that it was sunset, the pink sky, that afternoon when they had abandoned the search for the treasure, not knowing that it would be forever. Did the clue mean she had to go back? Go back alone to that pasture by the river? Or with her? And how had she managed to leave that piece of cloth with her scent on the seat of the plane in Neuquén?
In their last meeting, before Gastón’s trip to Holland, they went up to a terraced garden, and Gastón kissed her on the cheek, alone, without any particular intentions. They both knew that in that nocturnal moment they had to decide whether to give themselves to each other, for once, or for many, or to let him pass for the lost treasure.
Gastón did not advance, Susana hesitated down the stairs. The next day Gastón left for Holland.
In Amsterdam, but also in Antwerp, Paris, Geneva and Luxembourg, he found clues about Susana.
The treasure could have been to the northwest, in Merlo, San Luis, near a tree, camouflaged by a wood-colored package. The clues could appear on a woman’s strap, under a cup of coffee, on an Internet site. They were unmistakable. There was only one decision to make: contact Susana and go to San Luis.
But, although Gastón never stopped thinking about her or reached a stable relationship, I didn’t understand how to find it. Gradually her desire for her grew, but not her ability to express it concretely.
As night fell on that lightning-fast visit to Buenos Aires, still unable to remove the effect of the cemetery on her clothes, she discovered a horrible certainty: Olimpia hadn’t planted a treasure under a tree. The treasure had been Susana, and only for him.
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Source: Clarin
